


this world is rotten(-so let us set it alight-)

by Anonymous



Category: Berserk
Genre: Amorality, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Brother Complex, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Fantasy, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Incest, Incest, M/M, Magic, Manipulation, Mild Guts/Griffith, Morally Ambiguous Character, Multi, Not A Fix-It, Oblivious Reader, Obsession, One-Sided Attraction, Other, Possessive Behavior, Reader uses magic, Reader-Insert, Rebirth, Reincarnated into a crapsack world, Slavery, Slow Burn, Sorry Not Sorry, Stockholm Syndrome, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Unreliable Narrator, dark themes, incestuous themes, magical reader, male reader - Freeform, references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-02-14 06:27:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13001805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Would anything change if Griffith had an older brother?• YES• NO➵ I DON'T KNOWorEvery fandom deserves a male reader fic, and who doesn't like pretty boys?





	1. You wait.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our beginnings were humble.

Your first memories are nothing of worthwhile mentioning. The only thing you treasured from then till now( _and forever_ ) was your little brother. Your dearest darling brother - who should have never been born into such _filth_. Griffith was the most beautiful thing you had ever lain eyes upon( _you were utterly charmed by him, from the very day he was born_ ), so-

 

It was only given then - _expected_ \- that you had to protect what was yours - this tiny piece of innocence. But Griffith deserved so much more.

 

* * *

 

You call yourself Sergius. ( _Your parents have never bothered to name either of you. They left you and your younger brother, Griffith, to rot - but it is expected. A common whore's sons have no value._ ) 

 

"Griffith," you mouth to yourself( _it is a fitting name to a brother who would complement you - 'Sergius and Griffith'_ ) as you watched the retreating back of your nameless mother, who was just another whore - just as you were a bastard's son, given the grace of living with her till she bore another child - equally beautiful yet still abandoned. So you took over Griffith's care once he was weaned off their mother's milk, falling into the role of a caretaker easily. 

 

( _Beauty meant nothing. You are thankful that Griffith was not born a female, or he would have been made to whore himself out, like his mother._ )

 

You are sure your mother would have agreed, had she not fallen ill and died several winters after Griffith's birth. Her death left the brothel owners no reason to care for you, so you decided to leave. You were prideful, and therefore left of your own accord before anyone could try kicking you both out.

 

( _Departing with some provisions in the night before anyone could take initiative, you leave, unseen and unheard with Griffith by your side._ )

 

You do your best to take care of your little brother. Griffith grows under your care, and you take pride in him. He is enthralling - a perfect mirror of a younger  _you._  

 

It is not narcissism that makes you think so; it is a fact. He has the same thick, white, curly hair( _but yours is more wavy than curly, and easily tamed - unlike your little brother's, and Griffith's hair is so, so soft, but you were probably being bias_ ), though he sported a cherubic smile and had an aura of innocence, untainted by the cruel side of the world - a contrast to you, who had grown cold and indifferent to the world around you. You find yourself ...lacking, in comparison to him, even if Griffith claims you to be a kind and gentle soul. He would see that in time - you were no one worth admiring.

 

To the casual observer, there would be little difference apart from height( _and age_ ), though your eyes were more grey than blue upon closer inspection. Griffith's eyes were of the most delicate blue that gave off the aura of innocence and inspired a feeling to _protect_ within you - perhaps even to follow him to Hell and back. The only thing that truly differed was your personalities - but even so, you were still alike in many ways.

 

People of all kinds are drawn to you both - for good or for the worst.

 

But no matter what, Griffith would grow up strong - to become a true hunter. He would be no prey - you would make sure of that.

 

 _A hawk he would be, soaring freely on sunlit wings -_ if you wanted to be poetic - and the description is fitting. (His appearance reminds you of another - the 'hero' that existed in that dark fantasy manga you read in your childhood, but _could it be -?_ ) 

 

_The White Hawk._

  

* * *

 

Times were tough.

 

Street urchins had no one to look out for them( _but had danger dogging every step of their way_ ). Even the neighbourhood dog( _a friendly face in your childhood back then, long before your rebirth here_ ) was a menace - a threatening figure that promised a painful mauling - a danger when you had to look( _loot_ ) for food( _for necessities, just to survive._ ) You sometimes wonder what God had cursed you to be reborn in this world - medieval in every way - right down to their punishments and  _lack of proper plumbing._  

 

You don't - no, you cannot afford to fear death, not while Griffith still breathed and smiled and dreamt his dreams.( _A kingdom, a kingdom high above -_ ) His words and the setting you found yourself in was so similar to that tale you had read a lifetime ago, but you put it aside to wishful thinking and a desperate mind grasping at straws. (If, if this was truly  _that world,_ then you might stand a chance to see a perfect world.)

 

You both survive, somehow. You learn to steal, con and fight your way out of trouble - skills you never would have imagined using back then. But this was not your old world any longer, and Sergius( _your old identity had been cast aside a long time ago, when you chose to become Griffith's brother and protector that day_ ) would ensure that he and Griffith would both survive - to reach greater heights. This was not the end.

 

You both survive, somehow. 

 

 _Towards the castle, high, high above -_ Griffith would say, a bright smile on cherry-red lips and you would nod, following alongside with half-lidded eyes.

 

* * *

 

( _You remember too soon, or mayhaps, too late?_ )

 

"What's that?" You murmured upon catching sight of a red, oval object hanging around Griffith's neck, an ominous feeling enveloping you as you gazed at the unnatural object.  _Isn't that -_

 

Griffith smiled, joyously bright, unaware of his older brother's inner conflict. He removes the pendant and dangles it in front of you. You eye the object, noting its misshapened features and you barely hear Griffith's words as -

 

"It's a 'behelit' - an old fortune teller passed this to me - she said that _'Once you possess this you are destined to rule the world... in exchange for your flesh and blood, that is.'_ "

 

\- you _remember_.

 

You successfully fight back a burst of hysteric laughter and praise Griffith for his wonderful find.

 

A wonderful find indeed.

 

As though hearing your words, the crimson behelit cracks its eyes open -  _They are a startling blue, much like Griffith's own --_ \- a silent confirmation of what was to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sergius - 'servant', attendant, martyr, nomad - _'protector'_
> 
> Griffith - 'strong grip', warrior, lord, leader - _'strong lord'_


	2. In silence, you think overmuch.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever the follower, unable to deny that which you call kin.

Griffith would conquer the world - that, you are certain of. Whether you would stand in his way or aid him remained to be seen. His ever-growing charisma and beauty - the honing of his silver-tongue, wit and intelligence would be a boon for what was to come.

 

If only you could teach him proper swordplay, but all you knew was fighting dirty and snapping necks barehanded or with ad hoc weaponry(- the military is a wonderful place for such teachings). You teach him the former, and not the latter. It's better than running away like a spineless coward, you tell yourself, and Griffith's bright smile whenever he wins his fights makes everything worth it. ( _You would never teach your little brother how to kill. That was a skill he had to learn on his own._ )

 

_But could things change?_

 

Back then, when you were naught more than a spectator(reading the manga and enjoying the dark tale of _Berserk_ in all its mad glory), you could honestly care less no matter who lived or died, as long as Griffith was alive and well. Griffith was the 'hero' of the story after all - and everyone knew that heroes never died... But now, you are a part of the tale. You wouldn't back out and try to live a 'peaceful' life as some nameless commoner - (as the brother of the future king)you highly doubted that trouble would leave you be - so you wanted to be prepared when the time arrived. No one wants to die a dog's death serving under some foolish lord. You had to survive, if only for Griffith's sake.

 

 _But do I even want to change anything? And how would I go about doing it?_ You ask yourself inwardly. You had been doing quite a bit of contemplation recently - ever since Griffith gained the crimson behelit. ( _Could you, no, would you even want to do anything - short of turning on your own flesh and blood and snapping Griffith's neck to end the tale before it even started? Ruining all the effort of keeping Griffith safe and happy for a fix-it that might not even come to fruition?_ )

 

On one hand, there was the moral justice of doing the right thing - killing the 'antagonist' and all - but yet, there was no reason for you to try to save the future of people you didn't even know - _people you might not even get along well with._

 

You care for your brother, and bias you would be. The deaths of thousands justified the certainty of a peaceful kingdom, led by a beautiful, smart and charismatic leader - surely. It was better than _now_ , better than your current circumstances - _this cesspool of filth_ \- living and dying at the whims of nobles and war-mongering folks and the supernatural.

 

Your views ... _might_ be flawed, but you could justify most of Griffith's actions( _not the rape though, Casca never deserved it, but you forgave Griffith, as there was no need to hate what had not yet come to pass. That incident, you would prevent._ )

 

You, before your life as 'Sergius', had already seen( _read, watched, wanted -_ ) the proof of Griffith's accomplishments, the kingdom of Falconia - a true splendor to behold, made even more so by its formation by the world tree.( _The collision of the Astral Realm into the physical world - a true fantasy. How could you ever deny the opportunity to behold such a thing?_ ) 

 

The darker part of you desires it. Encourages it, even. You know it is nonsensical( _seeking the merging of the worlds_ ) - but you have never been a conformist. You knew of the consequences( _the destruction of the world, of everything that once was and not_ ), but wearied by this world( _living again, repeating the same song and dance of life but in a different tempo_ ), your rebirth, the stress of medieval times and _fightingfightingfightingfighting_ for survival -you just want ~~some entertainment~~ to live. If Griffith were not here - Sergius, Sergius - you, as a whole, would have no reason for _being_ -

 

"Sergius, are you unable to sleep yet again?"

 

You are broken from your increasingly depressing thoughts at the sound of your little brother's voice.

 

You shift to gaze at Griffith, whose guileless, imploring eyes are wide with unspoken questions. Up close, you can see each eyelash, white as freshly fallen snow - complemented by eyes like raindrops on blue aster. Starlight reflects in his curly hair, giving it a luminous shine and you can _see_ why so many fell for Griffith so easily. The longer one stays by his side, the deeper they are enchanted by his charisma. ( _Like an addictive drug_.)

 

Lying to Griffith is not something you're used to, so you tell the truth as always.

 

"...Unfortunately so. I will be fine though - don't worry." You reply, offering a tiny smile as you gave into the impulse of ruffling Griffith's soft, feathery hair - so much like your own - causing your little brother to pout cutely. Too bad you didn't have a camera( _damned medieval times_ ) - otherwise there would be so much blackmail to be had. _Heh_ , think about it - beating the Godhand with blackmail.

 

Griffith bats at your hand, cheeks puffed out cutely and you melt at the adorable picture it presented. If only you could stay in that moment forever.

 

( _You can, y' know. You can stay by Griffith's side if you choose to support him_ -)  ~~ _But where would the fun be in that?_~~

 

Then again, why... why did you have to do a thing anyways? You could just go with the flow, and worry about things when it came down to it. There was no reason for you to save anybody - you didn't owe anyone a thing, nor had anyone done you any favours worthy of a debt or repayment in kind. Perhaps you could prevent some things from happening. Perhaps. No guarantee, but it was a nice thought.

 

... _Heh_ , you were just making a big fuss out of nothing again, weren't you? 

 

You hear a sigh, before your cheeks are grasped gently by smaller hands - and Griffith presses his forehead against yours, a slight smile on his small lips. You see your image reflected in the other's eyes and you absently wonder what Griffith sees; another pawn, or a true friend in you.

 

You... cannot bring yourself to ruminate over that thought.

 

"Rest now, alright? You think too much, _brother_." You feel a shiver run down your spine at that admission, but it is not from fear. Nodding slowly, you close your eyes, and Griffith's smile widens. He releases your face gently, fingers brushing a stray curl of hair from your face.

 

Your cheeks tingle where Griffith touched you - and you miss that warm instantly. ( _Stay ~~as mine~~ with me, please_.) As though hearing your thoughts, Griffith snuggles up to you with a pleased huff, emanating warmth as he sought comfort in you. It never fails to relax you, and soon enough, you drift off into Morpheus's hold.

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

“I will be King,” Griffith promises you as your breathing evened out into that of deep sleep, “- and you'll be at my side. We shall want for nothing - _for everything will be ours_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of 2017 reminds me that the Berserk fandom is very male and very dead - much more unfortunate for the latter than the former...
> 
> Oh, and of course - I hope that everyone had a wonderful holiday(and a merry new year ahead). Thank you for your lovely comments, kudos and presence too.


	3. Your dreams are of starlight and endless delight -

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...but tell me, do you truly dream?

It is a fine day today.

 

You both sit on the overhanging roof of some inn, watching the going-ons of the other commoners below with mild disinterest. No one notices either of you, too caught up in their lives to bother with a pair of street urchins. Your brother glances at you every so often, but you pretend not to notice, preferring to eye the bakery as the baker began setting out his loaves for the midday's lunch hour.  _It's funny,_ you muse,  _as to how white bread - so common ~~cheapunhealthygarbage~~ in the modern day, was a rarity now - the complete opposite in the 21st Century, where brown 'wholemeal' bread was the pricier one. _ Perhaps you could filch a pair of loaves for lunch( _and dinner_ ) later on. Now _that's_ a plan.

 

"Do you have a dream?" Griffith asked, drawing you out of your musings. He toys with his behelit as he spoke, earnest and innocent for all that he is worth. 

 

The scarf around your neck( _a present, a gift that Griffith got for you one winter's morn, stolen from a passing merchant's caravan_ ) feels too warm at that ~~un~~ expected question.

 

It was only a matter of time, but such questions makes you weary all the same. You don't answer him immediately, your eyes drifting to some indent in the tiled rooftops as you contemplate an answer.

 

Honestly, you had never thought much about your dream, being too busy with survival and plotting your future route to ensure said survival. But faced with the question, by Griffith of all people - you knew that bullshit was not an option. Griffith was like one of those important NPCs in choice games whose answer would decide your future path, if you wanted to put it in gaming terms.

 

_It should be bound to be amusing, no matter my answer._

 

"If you do not wish to mention it - that's fine-" Griffith starts, but you stop him with a shake of your head, pushing back a few strands of white hair behind your ear, eyes focused on the clamour of the marketplace below you.

 

High above on your perch, there was a sense of one watching ants milling about their mundane lives. ( _You were like Kings - ~~of nothing~~._ )

 

"Nothing like that," you sigh, blue-grey eyes filled with far too much tiredness for someone so young. "My dream is nothing special, you see. It is not grand - nothing like yours, I am sure, so it's a little embarrassing to say it aloud..."

 

"I won't laugh, promise." Griffith states seriously, but on his youthful face any attempt at seriousness looks more cute than anything else. 

 

 _How sweet._ You laughed softly, eyes curving up into crescents. 

 

"Ah, well, my dream is ...to live in a world without expectations." - _a world where I am free to do as I wish, that would be my 'perfect world'. I tire of war, of bloodshed, of competition amongst each other. I seek 'peace', but you would not understand, Griffith, nor can I risk explaining that to you._ Seeing Griffith's confused expression, you snort. _"Heh._ I'm not making any sense now, I'm sure - forgive me-"

 

" _No!"_

 

You wince at Griffith's outburst, and he flushed, giving you an apologetic look.

 

He grasps your hand with his small ones, eyes bright. "Your words have meaning. Your dream may not follow mine, but that is fine."

 

You recall your little brother's unintended words to a black-haired swordsman, once under a full moon and a naïve princess's gaze, wondering whether this moment would be the same - 

 

"After all -"

 

But this time, it's different. You are grateful for that.

 

"- a **dream** _... It's something you do for yourself, not for others."  _

 

* * *

 

"To achieve our dreams, we will have to become stronger," your brother says.

 

You look up from your meal, chewing languidly on the freshly baked loaf of bread. - _an_ _d what is your dream, brother dearest?_

 

"My dream... My dream is to have a kingdom of my own," Griffith declares without question, sure and calm. His eyes are distant, fixated on the castle over yonder - its tall pillars reaching heavenward and creating the illusion of being one with the clouds.

 

 _Ambitious,_ you muse.  _But expected._

 

"However. you already knew that, did you not?" His hawk-like gaze flicks back to you, expectant.

 

You give a noncommital hum in reply.

 

 _Yes, yes I did._  

 

* * *

 

Griffith doesn't question how you know things beyond your age - how you act more adult than child; he accepts it without batting an eye, and you like to think that he is proud to have you as his brother too.

 

"If you seek a kingdom of your own - you would first require the knowledge and wisdom to rule one properly. A country is nothing without a wise king."

 

Griffith hangs on to your every word, and you temper down the burst of pride in you at the sight( _ah, how delightful - to be able to have a hand in raising God_ ).

 

"Planning, dining and social etiquette, general knowledge, poetry, sword-fighting... these are some of the few things one must have to become a proper gentleman. You must have impeccable mannerisms atop keen intellect to stand a chance against those born in nobility. As no one, we have to rise from the lowest caste so we must have every advantage and little to no flaws."

 

 _Your ambition and conviction will lead you far,_ you think, watching as Griffith's eyes shone with far too much interest.

 

"I see," he says, voice considering. "What would you suggest then?"

 

You grin, slick, sly and proud. "Leadership has always come naturally to you," you speak, matter-of-fact, and Griffith's chest puffs out in pride.

 

_"-but it is not enough."_

 

Griffith deflates at that, and you snicker at the sight. These were the moments you lived for, when Griffith seemed more human than the untouchable fairytale prince from the stories.

 

You gather your thoughts with a soft huff.

 

" _Read_. _Observe_ the world around you. Gossip comes from the lowliest of servants, and knowledge can be stolen from the tomes and scrolls that reside in the libraries of the wealthy. Practice your skills - you never know what may come in handy one day."

 

You spread your arms wide, as if you could encompass the world in your hands. _"Astound them with your humble origins."_

 

Bright blue eyes gaze at you in admiration, and you are drawn back into your memories -

 

Late afternoons spent playing in the woods; times where the sunlight dimmed by towering buildings of your town but illuminated the distant castle like a sight out of a fantasy dream; watching Griffith as he played with the other street urchins; gazing up at the sun-drenched castle from the slums you both resided in and the fortune teller who foretold Griffith's conquest of the world and you think -

_Nothing is impossible._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @sunflowergear:: Thank you for your kind words. 
> 
> I too share similar sentiments with you, which is why I decided to write my own stories. You know what they say; if no one helps you - help yourself. (Hehe, glad that you aren't repulsed by that. Then again, considering the fact that Berserk canon has more taboo topics than incest...)
> 
> @everyone:: Feel free to chat or toss ideas my way anytime. I care not if you are registered or anonymous - I desire the imagination of the world.


	4. A goal came to mind.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We must not be afraid to dream the seemingly impossible if we want the seemingly impossible to become reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those whom subscribed, sorry for the false alert. That was a W.I.P chapter that I ended up not saving by accident. This goes to show that writing at 2am after a long shift is not recommended.
> 
> Here, have this early chapter as a token of my apology. 
> 
> PS:: If you want to see a certain scenario, do tell.

How can you improve yourself and guarantee your survival in the foreseeable future?

 

**Good question.**

 

Knowledge, you had plenty of, for the moment. Physical strength took time to be gained - something you were improving on day by day, much like your agility and stealth, but that wouldn't save you from a Kelpie or certain death.

 

You only had a few options of ensuring your survival. No matter how sly or strong you may be, you are still human in the end. Casting aside the option of becoming an apostle( _for you could never sacrifice Griffith, even if he may not share such sentiments towards you_ ), you still had the chance of becoming a warrior(like Guts)... or a sorcerer.

 

The former didn't sound too appealing, with the high mortality rate and low pay. You weren't one for melee and brute force anyways; you preferred mage or rogue classes, evident in your gaming days. Magic and stealth was more of your thing.

 

And from what you recalled, using magic only had a simple set of requirements. To use magic - it only required ' _belief_ ' in that which was ' _impossible_ '. Fuelled by ' _imagination_ ', anything was possible. Anyone could learn magic, as evidenced many a time. As long as your mind was not shut off and open to new possibilities - ' _anything was possible_ '. It shouldn't be too hard, right? Like those RPGs, it probably required a lot of reading, theory and understanding of the forces/world around you, and you already _had_ some advantage considering your habit on reading up on the arcane and its various forms back _then_ ( _God, how you missed the internet._ ) - especially since most magic seemed to follow similar paths, and Berserk was probably no different.

 

You never know till you try after all.

 

 ** _Yes_** , that sounded more like it. 

 

 _Experienced magic-users can even fly,_  as Schierke had once said in the manga, and wouldn't that be _amazing?_

 

You recall Daiba with his monstrous summons, and Schierke's mentor, the witch whose simple existence caused a reborn Griffith to send scores of apostles in order to get rid of her - a threat by merely _existing_ \- not to mention the Flower Storm Sovereign, who was beautiful as she was humble, and you don't _think_ on how you were going to find someone willing to teach you magic, the death sentence if you were found to be a magic-user or whether you even _had_ the capability to _use_ magic but _instead_ on the endless possibilities.

 

After all, _anything_   _was possible, in this mad, mad world_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @Momokai:: I do so hope that I'll continue to astound you then. It's always good to see another enthusiastic fan too, so hop on the train - we're not stopping till we reach our dream. 
> 
> My, a reader insert as Gut's brother would be interesting, especially if there's slash abound(sorry mate - I just need some porn in this Berserk desert). I hope to see you around~
> 
>  
> 
> @sunflowergear:: Good to be here. Where's the nearest pit stop for some indulgences?
> 
> I get your drift. Small fandoms often have that kind of problem, so here's to hoping that more folks will be lured in. I... didn't quite plan on having a reader-insert at first, but I came to the decision since the most lacking in any fandom were MALE OCs, READER inserts and Well-written fiction - not neccessarily in that order. 
> 
> Hm, which character would that be? Or maybe you have already written it out?
> 
>    
> @ChewySquid: Thank you - so, how interesting are things so far for you? More entertainment is on their way, for a little more of your patience.
> 
>  
> 
> @everyone: This reminds me. I recalled reading a Berserk fic years ago in which Griffith was reborn but lost all his memories(becoming like a Casca 2.0) and Guts took care of him... But I can't find it. Does anyone have a link to said story or was it just my imagination? Because if it was my imagination - I suppose the appropriate course of action would be to produce said fic in this verse...


	5. Glimpses of the paths you took - and one you never did.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **aka**  
>   
> 
> Five kisses freely given - one, demanded and taken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of a stitched together piece for Valentine's Day than anything else in all honesty.

Old habits die hard.

 

It's night time - time to sleep and refresh one's mind and body. It's habit for your parents to enter your room and kiss you goodnight - they are not here now, not in this world, but the tradition remains. An old sentiment you could never quite let go of. 

 

A chaste press of lips on forehead - a soothing touch that meant love and trust.

 

Nothing more, nothing less.

 

( _But maybe that's what gets you into trouble. Sentimentality and old habits._ )

 

* * *

**₪unus**

 

Griffith is a mere babe - precocious and fragile, snowy curls of hair, cherubic face and the most stunning set of blue eyes you had ever seen.

 

He wails when you leave, refusing to quiet down unless given more attention(-like a pampered cat) or distracted by food and the occasional toy you stitched up for him.

 

Tiring, but you adapt. 

 

At night time is when Griffith thankfully settles down, readying himself for a good night's sleep. You would cradle his tiny body close, letting your little brother fist handfuls of your shirt and snuggle into your chest. 

 

 _My little light,_ you think, and press your lips on his forehead, wishing him a good night's sleep. Griffith bubbled happily, grasping a lock of your hair and refused to let go, as if it was a safety blanket of sorts.

 

You smile fondly, and doze off soon enough - with Griffith enclosed in your warm embrace. 

 

* * *

**₪duo**

 

Mother is dying. Your birth mother of this world, that is. 

 

She takes your hand in her frail one, skin pale as her hair, body trembling as she fought to speak through wracking coughs. You press a soothing kiss to a slender brow and she tenses for a second before falling lax, eyes closed.

 

"My little bird..." She sighs, whisper-thin and sad, spidery fingers circled around your wrist in a weak grip you have no heart to tear out of.

 

She reminds you of the ephemeral quality of life, brittle, beautiful and _fleeting_ - 

 

You look away when they draw a shroud of white over her stilled frame.

 

_Just the two of us now._

 

Griffith is blissfully oblivious - still a toddler in every sense of word and mindset. You focus your attention back on him, cradling him in your arms.

 

You then kiss him once on each eyelid, whispering a soft blessing under your breath.  _For luck, and for health,_ you tell yourself as Griffith giggled, pudgy hands waving about adorably in an attempt to grab at your wavy locks of hair.

 

"I will protect you," you say aloud, in assurance for him or yourself, you don't quite know.

 

But what you do know is -

 

Griffith is yours, just as you are _his_.

 

* * *

  **₪tres**

 

Griffith is three when you flee. He is intelligent for his age - absorbing every bit of information you offered, observing the world around him with eyes like the arctic sea. Such a lovely child. You kiss him once on his forehead, and he settles down, waiting and watching as you packed up for the journey ahead.

 

Taking a pair of bedrolls, some provisions and coin, you slink off into the night, clasping Griffith's hand as he followed you willingly. 

 

( _You meet and help people. Some owe you favours and debts which you hoard like a magpie, others become your ears. Time passes, and by the time winter comes, you have built up a nice shack-house of sorts for yourself and Griffith._

 

 _Nothing like the cosy home you once had, but things are never prone to staying the same, and this is no different._ )

 

* * *

**₪quattuor**

 

Guts is a person you never expected to meet at your age, but you supposed that the trope of _'meeting all canon characters before canon begins'_ had some hold here.

 

He nothing more than a waif of a child carrying a too-big sword and the burdens of a man, but his eyes are the most soulful black you have ever seen. Enticing, really. 

 

So you can't be blamed for approaching him, right?

 

He draws trouble to himself, you think as you see shady figures encircle him, and dart into the fray when the time was right, saving Guts from a severe blow. He thanks you afterwards - even if it's a little sullen, it is sincere, and you kiss his bruised knuckles in a comforting gesture just like you had many a time to Griffith, who took great delight in your attention on him.

 

Guts doesn't object at all, and you take this chance to get to know him better.

 

Besides, it wouldn't change canon, right?

 

( _For the most part, you are correct._ )

 

* * *

**₪quinque**

 

"Do you like surprises, Sergius?" Griffith asks, waving a hand out towards the executioner's stand, where several familiar faces stood. Their faces are distorted by terror and bruises, but recognisable as the ones that tried to intimidate you not too long ago. Keyword being  _tried._

 

You hum pleasantly - the sound going unheard over the murmuring of the crowd - cocking your head at Griffith, eyes questioning.

 

"All for you, brother," Griffith murmurs without answering your query, watching the hanging with focused eyes that shone like polished crystals - confirming the fact that he had been the one who had orchestrated the deaths of the teenagers who had attempted to bully you from a hard-earned meal a few days back.

 

A harsh punishment? Perhaps, but Griffith did not forgive slights upon you easily, and you could honestly care less - fewer people meant less competition for resources after all.

 

You hear the disquieting snap of bones, paying no heed to the bulge of their eyes and battered, purpling faces twisted in fear and agony and the cheering of the crowd, wondering to yourself - _was this truly for my sake or yours?_  

 

However, you say nothing, choosing to simply press your lips to Griffith's soft cheek because you, too, are pleased with this outcome.

 

* * *

**₪ + One that never was ₪**

 

When Griffith was younger, you would kiss him goodnight - an old habit from days long past. It was nothing more than a gentle press of lips on skin; forehead, cheek, lips - it meant comfort and old familiarity - a figment of your past you had never been able to let go of.

 

You had thought that Griffith would forget all about it, but apparently not.

 

"Brother, may I have a kiss?"

 

_....What?_

 

You could protest, refuse, but… But, when Griffith's soft, hopeful gaze met your own, you felt an incessant, overpowering pull towards it that was probably what got you in this situation to begin with.

 

“…Of course ...Griffith.”

 

Griffith's smile is sweet, bright; so achingly beautiful, much more evident as you dipped down to press a feather-light kiss to his impossibly soft lips. It is anything but brotherly; nothing like the soothing kisses you would give to him when you were both children, but perhaps this was what Griffith wants.

 

 _…I’m going to hell._ You think, but in the whole scheme of things - Hell isn't the worst place to end up in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @Arlettau: Thank you. To hear that is a wonderful thing. Beware though, for Berserk is a dark, dark place. 
> 
> @Momokai:: My thanks for your replies, as always. It's good to make use of everything after all, so hey, magic and stealth - here we go. It may not be a smooth sailing ride, but rest assured that there'll be references... sometime in the future.
> 
> It's tempting, isn't it? I'll content myself with watching others play though. I've always been more of an observer. If you like Berserk Musou, then have you ever heard or considered Bloodborne? It is inspired by Berserk, and is equally dark but more obscure.
> 
> Indulgence is a delight. That's truly a lovely idea you have there. I hope you'll choose to post it one day, even if it is in drabble form. I guess I'm not one for such masochism since Guts's path is a one way trip to hell, but we all agree - screw Donovan. Griffith is a grey area to me though - apart from starting skepticism, Gut's brother might eventually warm up(y'know, when Griffith helps out/Reader not being one to blame when nothing has actually happened) and ends up staying behind and taking Guts's place? Cue angst. 
> 
> My thanks - I offer you the same too.(Now, take this idea of people seeing Gut's brother as a gentleman and Guts... not, causing eventual jealousy and so on -) 
> 
> PS: A pity that A03 doesn't have an actual messaging system yet, eh?
> 
> @everyone else:: Happy Holiday(s) - may the new year be starting off great for everyone.


	6. Spend your days thinking of [variable] as nothing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snippets of our lives, back in our sunset romance.

You spend your days teaching Griffith on basic subjects like mathematics, science, language, history and the like. While this meant that you were unable to focus on learning magic(- _or find a way to learn said magic_ ), you don't mind, because only in _teaching_ do you truly _learn_ , and when Griffith formed his band, you would surely have plenty of time and resources to learn magic by then.

 

_My time for yours - a small sacrifice, for the greater good._

 

No matter what, it's undoubtedly nice to be the teacher to a willing, intelligent student.

 

* * *

 

"I have heard tale that another of your friends was caught stealing. He is about to be hung for his crimes today." You start conversationally, rearranging the notes in your hand to some semblance of order.

 

"I see." Griffith's voice is bland, as though it was nothing new.  _Huh._ And here you thought that 'uncaring' persona was an adult Griffith thing, but apparently not...

 

Griffith elaborates further upon seeing your raised brow. "It is no actual loss. I regard the other children as playmates, but they are not my true friends. That spot is reserved... for another. They are good sources of information, but in the end, they are mere followers while I lead. _Replaceable_ \- "

 

"Oh?"  _How unsurprisingly cruel._

 

"Then, what would you consider a ...'true friend'?" You ask, despite already having an inkling of what he would say in your mind.

 

Griffith brightens, as though he had been waiting for you to ask. "Well... A man who would be my friend must have a reason for living that goes beyond me. And he should put his heart and soul into protecting this dream - even if it means **opposing** me. In order for me to call a man my friend, he... _must be my equal in every aspect."_

 

He spoke with conviction, his eyes serious and dark, like the uncharted depths of the ocean. Alluring and foreboding, and wasn't _that_ charming?

 

For an instant, it was as though you were in the princess's place, a stranger listening to Griffith's ambitious speech on that starry night(-  _and seeing nothing but a noble prince borne of starlight_  -) but the moment fades away in a blink of an eye, and Griffith is still your innocent, beloved brother(- _and no stranger, never_ ).

 

"Ah. I will have to disagree with you on that point." You remarked, wondering when Griffith had become so philosophical. You certainly don't recall raising him this way.

 

( _Lie, you have always wanted him to have intelligence and knowledge to match his fighting skills - much like canon._ ) An aftereffect of visiting countless libraries( _in many an estate where security was low since 'public libraries' apparently didn't exist here, at least the ones with useful information, that is -_ ) perhaps?

 

Or maybe this had always been a part of Griffith, made more prominent as he grew older along with the fact that you were one to indulge in his queries. ( _Truth_.)

 

"To have a friend would mean to accept them without any expectations - the way you say it makes me feel that you only desire their companionship if they are of a certain standard - which is not true friendship. True friends would accept each other without question, you see."

 

"And that is why  _you_  are my dearest friend, brother." Griffith's eyes gleam with some foreign emotion(- _satisfaction? pride? glee?_ ), surprising you.

 

"Aa..?" 

 

"You are not judgemental nor will you accept my words at face value, and that is something I ...appreciate. I hear your reasoning, but know that I want someone who can think for themselves and not follow  _blindly_  - that is what I desire in a friend." He shrugs. "Call me selfish, but then again, are humans all not equally selfish in some way or the other?"

 

You are speechless. Shaking your head with a mild sigh, you speak, voice low. "You are too kind, brother."

 

"No, you think too little of yourself, Sergius..." Griffith murmurs, face unervingly close as he gripped your arm tightly - as though trying to prove a point.

 

You brush off the aura of possessiveness that Griffith gave off, putting it aside to thinking too much of what was obviously Griffith's way of showing concern at your low self-esteem.

 

* * *

 

 "Griffith - are you not staying for lunch?"

 

Your little brother eyed the food you had scrounged up - consisting of some fresh berries, an apple, plus some bread and cheese( - nothing special, but this was quite the haul, seeing that most orphans couldn't even get a  _single_ meal, much less three) - and shook his head reluctantly.

 

"I'll do without this time," he says, and turns to leave in a hurry.

 

You fight back a pang of hurt, tossing an apple at Griffith, who catches it instinctively. He gives you a surprised look that melts into gratefulness, biting into the fruit with a crisp sound as he waved goodbye.

 

"Take care, alright, and have fun!" You paste a smile on your face, and Griffith nods, dashing off into the crowded streets, his white hair like the billowing trail of a cloud.

 

Then, after a beat, you think -  _why not go on a little adventure of my own?_ Griffith would be overjoyed if you had managed to get some proper coinage - you might even be able to get some  _fresh_ meat! Salted meats and pickled vegetables got tiring after a while.

 

( _Your little escapade ends up with meeting a young Guts whom you help out of some trouble - but that's a tale for another time._ )

 

* * *

 

It's evening when you return home, wearied by the day's adventures, guilt building in your chest on recalling that you had essentially forgotten all about Griffith in the excitement of meeting Guts.

 

At least you got some honey to make up for it. You step into the little shack you built(with the help of some others) - and promptly stagger as a heavy weight barrelled into you, nearly causing you lose your balance. Small arms enclosing around you tightly, and you sigh, petting Griffith's head comfortingly.

 

"I'm home." You say, voice a comforting lull. "Sorry for worrying you, Griff."

 

"Don't call me that." Griffith pouted.

 

"Ah, come on now, brother. Look what I got you - your  _favourite_." Smiling lightly, you nudge Griffith with the chunk of honeycomb( _carefully wrapped in paper_ ) - obtained with help from Guts, not that you would ever tell.

 

His frown deepens before he gives in and accepts the sweet treat, unwrapping it carefully before biting into it with a soft sound of delight. 

 

"...You're forgiven," he mutters at the sight of your piteous expression. 

 

"But, how did you get this? The wilderness where the bees live is not an easy route to traverse." Griffith wondered aloud, nibbling on the remainder of the honeycomb.

 

Your eyes light up, an unbidden smile appearing on your face.

 

"I met a swordsman - he was very... accomodating." You add in a low purr, chuckling to yourself.  _He had the most soulful eyes of any swordsman I have ever seen, and a kind heart, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. I look forward to seeing the man he will become._

 

Lost in memory, you never see the displeased expression that crosses Griffith's face.

 

* * *

 

The start of your foray into magic is similar yet different to Griffith's path to Godhood; one, foretold to rule the world, the other, granted by [Luck/Fate/God] to do as you pleased.

 

You were seeking some reading material in the nearby lord's summer home(empty for now) when you feel the **_call_** \- it is indescribable, but you know it to be what you want.

 

You follow the pull to find an eerily familiar vendor who was selling various trinkets, but you ignore your curiosity( _weren't you the one who gave my little brother that behelit-_?) in lieu of inspecting the nondescript book you were drawn to.

 

"Good eyes." She grins - a gap-toothed thing. "- for you, little bird, it's  _free_." The old hag laughs, a wheezy sound that shook her robed form.

 

You barely acknowledge the vendor, picking up the book with trembling hands. When you open it, you note the words... which were  _carved_ in some strange form that you could not read. However, when you looked closer and inspected the symbols,  _wanting to understand_ and  _desiring it to be reality_ -

 

              - the knowledge flowed into your mind.

 

There was no other way to describe it. Like locks clicking into place - you could suddenly understand and see things you never knew was possible. Theories, spells, history, life...

 

It scared you, to say the truth, but you are no coward. 

 

 _Well, that answers that I suppose. Magic is a resounding yes for me -_ and damn the world if that makes you happier than anything you have ever been before.

 

( _If your nights afterwards are stalked by the visions of what could have and never was - no one needed to know_.)

 

* * *

   
You doze under the shady copse of trees, content with waiting as Griffith played with his friends in the grassy fields not too far away.

 

Their joyous laughter is something that makes you smile. True happiness, however childish, was a rare thing to observe or hear after all.

 

"Brother, brother -" A clear voice called out, and you opened an eye to see Griffith running over to you, smiling happily. His hands were clasped around something - _a prize_ \- you note as you stood up and stretched yourself with a quiet yawn.

 

"I won!" Griffith boasted, face dusted with pink from his exertions, chest puffed out as he showed off his newest trinket, a simple ring made of some unknown metal. Probably tarnished scrap, you think, but you supposed that the 'victory' of the game was more of what that counted to Griffith.

 

Entwining long stems of the wildflowers you had gathered earlier, you form it into a flower crown, which you place onto Griffith's head, kneeling as you did so.

 

"Well done," you congratulated him, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. Griffith touches his forehead with startled eyes before touching the flower crown, feeling the soft petals under his fingertips.

 

"My little King of Longing," you say with a soft smile, and Griffith flushes ever so delightfully.

 

Head bowed, he looks away, seemingly embarassed. 

 

Griffith looks up after a moment.

 

"You always say these kind of things, but do you... do you _really_ think I can be king?" Griffith questions, an odd sort of desperation underlying his tone for something you can't quite decipher, his eyes reflecting the cloudless blue skies above.

 

"Of course." You assured him truthfully, entwining the remainder of the wildflowers you had gathered earlier into another flower crown as you spoke.

 

_It's only a matter of 'when', not 'if'._

 

"Then when I am King, will you be my Queen?"

 

"What do you mean?" You ask carefully, a frown on your features, pausing in your handiwork to look at Griffith, who offered up the band of metal like one would in a marriage proposal.

 

It was... mildly disturbing. You don't ever recall teaching him these kind of things.

 

"Well," Griffith reasoned. " - every King needs a Queen, right? I can think of no one better than you."

 

"Do I not suffice the position of an advisor; as your right-hand man?" You question, delibrating on whether you had been cursed into awkward situations somewhere along the line.

 

 _I am too old for you,_ you want to say but that wouldn't make any sense, not when you lacked the crow feet around your eyes, the slowness of your gait and the brittle bones that came with old age.

 

You are now a child in form, despite your weathered soul.

 

Griffith wouldn't understand.

 

"- I want to protect you. As Queen, you will be by my side. No one will be able to touch you." Griffith explains earnestly, and you inwardly coo a little at the concern(- _twisted by possesiveness_ ) that Griffith had over you. ~~Still a child.~~ How endearing.

 

"That's very sweet of you, but a true princess would make a finer Queen than I, no?" You wave a dismissive hand in the air.

 

"Nay," Griffith murmurs. "Never," he continues, the words reflecting the promise shining in his eyes.

 

"...There can be none other than _you_." He states without jest, icy blues holding an intense firmness in them, face unsmiling. There is a plea in the depths of his blue, blue eyes despite his front, and you suddenly see a child seeking comfort in the only family they know and -

 

You have no heart to refuse him.

 

The flower crown falls to the ground, forgotten, as you place your hand in his, feeling as though you had willingly shackled yourself to land, never to be let free, but surely, this was just a phase Griffith was going through, something that he would forget in time -  ~~was it a lie you keep telling yourself or was it the truth, oh lord, you don't know but you know what they say;~~ ( _Tell a lie long enough and you'll soon start to believe it_ -)

 

"You think too much, brother." Griffith observed, and you flinch at the touch of cool metal on your skin.

 

You see the glee dancing in his eyes and you wonder, but your thoughts don't drift far enough as -

 

Griffith wraps his fingers around yours, the difference obvious between you two yet there is a hidden strength coursing through Griffith's as he maintained eye contact with you - and slipped the ring onto your ring finger, turning your hand upwards and pressing a chaste kiss to your still palm. His face is unnervingly close for some time( _watching, savouring his flawless victory_  -) before he steps back - all smiles and angelic, flower crown complementing the dove-feather white of his hair and you can do nothing but smile back.

 

( _The ring is like a binding promise for something you cannot put words to_.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @a(nonymous):: Hello, lovely to meet you - and thank you for your enthusiasm and comments. 
> 
> I'll answer your queries(though they may not be in order)...
> 
> Let's see - well, Sergius won't ever be killing Griffith, because there's no point. He's a practical person, you see, and there's no use in killing someone he cares so deeply about in order to fix the plot. Those are possibilities I might explore though - no guarantees.
> 
> Denial is a nice place to live; Ignorance is bliss. 'Where would the fun be...' quoted bit and all is honestly up to YOUR interpretation as the reader. I personally see it as Sergius not wanting to be a follower to Griffith since that would be a boring, set path plus Sergius wants 'freedom' - the luxury to do what he wants, which Griffith(controlling lil' bastard) would never allow. 
> 
> To me, Sergius is around 5-10 years older than Griffith(but may seem smaller/of similar age due to malnutrition/stunted growth due to giving all the best food/stuff to Griffith), but you are free to imagine as you wish. Besides, the story is in 'your' POV, so it's only natural that 'you' only see what 'you' assume things to be.(Plus the fact that the story is not 100% linear, as you have probably seen~)
> 
> My, my - Solas from Dragon Age I presume? That's a neat one(but don't worry, Sergius won't be going bald anytime), seeing as both are self-taught beings and pretty wise.(Right on that point; Sergius will become stronger, if only to survive-)
> 
> A Griffith POV is one of my plans for the future, so you'll be able to get some insight of how he views you, so I'll just... continue keeping you in suspense till then.
> 
> Oh, thank you - I was not sure how well the Sergius/Reader's 'ambition' would be recieved since I want to make something that is realistic(considering their circumstances/experiences) and you, the viewers as a whole, but I am glad to see that everything's alright. (Will elaborate more sometime - no need to worry.)
> 
> I am just a sucker for magic I suppose.(Mostly I just want an excuse to use magic and explore its finer points in the Berserk world.) You'll be in for a treat, I'm sure.
> 
> Lovely to hear that. It's my first time using the 5+1 style in such a way, so hearing positive feedback is excellent. Twisted fluff to move the plot along - my favourite~
> 
> SPOILERS - you read my mind, but yes, Sergius does have magic - he's just untrained, as you might have seen. He'll get some help here and there, but Reader's a smart cookie - never fear.
> 
> Reader doesn't actually hate his parent(s) - he leans on a neutral state since he understands their reasons for doing the things they did(as mentioned in the 1st chapter I believe) and in all honesty, Mother isn't bad - just a wearied soul looking out for herself. Or you can just take it as Sergius(you) being respectful/pitying your mother long enough to let her die.
> 
> I should consider a tinfoil hat with how you're guessing my thoughts - though I won't confirm anything, expect more setups for future angst and unhealthy relationships. Guts/Griffith will exist. Don't worry. I'll find some way to squeeze it in.
> 
> PS: Such a delightful compliment - you make me blush~
> 
> PPS: It's a pity that such fandoms have very little fiction about them though. I'm sure that someone will come up with Gwyndolin fics though. I can't be of much help there since I'm only in the Bloodborne/Berserk side. Knights have never been my thing...  
>  
> 
> @sunflowergear:: Hey there, it's been a long time. Good to see you around - and thank you for your support~ 
> 
> Reader is a nice guy who can't refuse his brother. 
> 
> And yes, that would be lovely... But I don't have a tumblr account. It's embarrassing, considering this day and age, so, hm, do you have any other sites to chat with?
> 
> (I don't have the time to maintain other accounts these days, but would you mind telling me your tumblr just in case I create an account? I'll make no promises though.)  
>  
> 
> @Momokai:: Huh, well, nothing that drastic - I was referring to Gut's brother staying behind with Griffith(convinced/seduced over to Griffith's side, since Griffith doesn't want to lose another 'pawn'?) when Guts leaves the Hawks/Griffith - but hey, either or both ideas would create a boatload of angst. 
> 
> ... I have neither, but what is 'discord', pray tell? Forgive me. I am an old man who still thinks of nightclubs as discos.
> 
> @everyone:: If I take longer or seem choppy in my replies, forgive me. Work is very tiring, though I'll edit/smoothen out my words in any case. Either way, I am always willing to chat.
> 
> (Am also considering the pros and cons of creating a tumblr account. ...Technology is not my forte.)


	7. A conversation, now lost in time.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you were given a chance to change things, would you take it?.
> 
> ( _I doubt so. Humans are lazy creatures._ )

"Sergius... What exactly _are_ morals?" Griffith asks, pointing to a particular section of his current book.

 

"Do the books not elaborate?"

 

"They do to some level, but I wish to hear _your_ opinion." Griffith admits, face pink. How cute.

 

You nod in understanding, gathering your thoughts. "Well, 'moral' means 'the intersection between well-being or the avoidance of suffering, and fairness'.  _Morality_ is a social construct that evolved along with man to give us a system that would allow us to function as a society. As such, when one says 'moral', what they mean is 'pro-social', and when they say 'immoral', what they mean is 'anti-social'."

 

"Ah," Griffith hums, fingers tapping a soft staccato on the book's hard cover. "So... what _do_ morals mean to you?"

 

Questions, questions - if you were a better person you might have lied in an attempt to push Griffith to a better path. But you are not. 

 

 _Rotted, **rotted** ,  **rotted**  till only bare bones remain - that's what happened to your 'morals'. Black as your white hair is the colour of purity,_ a little voice sang, and you don't exactly disagree. 

 

 _"Nothing."_ You purr in duclet tones. 

 

"But didn't you say -"

 

You cut him off, just because you can. "Moral claims don't really have a truth value to me. There's no universal moral status for any action, because there's _nothing_ about the world that makes anything moral _or_ immoral. Most people who share this perspective share the belief that morality is a lens that people apply to the world, and as such, its character being dependent on who is holding up the lens."

 

You exhale, eyes roving over the bookshelves and tapestries before finally settling on Griffith - more specifically, his Behelit.

 

"Do you understand -?"

 

 _"Morality is subjective."_ \- your voices say as one, echoing in the empty library.

 

You don't know who said it first, but it gets a chuckle out of you all the same.

 

* * *

 

You look back on that incident now, and wonder whether that was the start of when everything changed; a warning of darker possibilities coming into play. ( _It's not that you hadn't predicted it - you were just not the cautious sort - not when it came to family. ~~A foolish mistake.~~_ )

 

Or perhaps things had changed a long time ago, and this was simply just the first hint of it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ceciliailia:: Hello there - lovely having you here. Unfortunately, the closest I have seen to such fanart is [this](https://scontent-sea1-1.cdninstagram.com/vp/435f26af3ac665c30393aa0204bf26e2/5B13755D/t51.2885-15/s480x480/e35/17934250_725114234325279_8103325023680331776_n.jpg?ig_cache_key=MTUwMTM2NjU0ODkxOTY0MTIzNw%3D%3D.2).  
> Hmhm - Reader's one too think too far and not see the obvious in front of him as one might observe. 
> 
> That's a nice range on the Reader - I would say that Griffith's current age is 8-10 years old( - a genius by human standard I suppose) if you'd like some clarification. My reasoning for the 'slight differences' would be due to this being a one-sided POV on your(the Reader's) side, and also due to malnutrition/stress/poor living conditions(as mentioned earlier). The way you view things may not be the way others see it after all...
> 
> And thank you once more - I hope you'll have a nice time here.
> 
>  
> 
> @Momokai:: My thanks - *Takes a deep bow*
> 
> Don't worry, we all have different levels of angst. I just don't go straight for the kill; a slow one that you cannot escape from is what I prefer. (Or just logic, because trying to cough up reasons as to why Skull Knight abandons Gut's brother is too troublesome for me...)
> 
> Agreed. I have never enjoyed Casca's character either. That... may be reflected in my writing as you'll soon see. 
> 
> And yeah - that was my thoughts too. In trying to pull Griffith away from his ambitions, Reader gets pulled deeper into the Hawk's plots. Isn't that where the fun always is?
> 
> Ah, I see, I see. That sounds interesting. How do you go about creating an account on it and using this 'discord' then? (and thank you for the encouragement. I await your reply, truly.)
> 
>  
> 
> @sunflowergear:: Heh, thank you kindly - I do so love showing Griffith's affections/narcissim manifest - and seeing your approval is a definite plus. (No, that was the plan all along - racing hearts and flushed faces are 100% normal. Really.) Plotting Griffith is best Griffith. 
> 
> If my words give you life, then your reviews bring me a hope that can never be eclipsed. Thank you, truly - I am always grateful when you take time to read and review.
> 
> (I understand. I will treasure it all the same. May create a tumblr once overseas trip is over.)
> 
>  
> 
> @everyone:: Sorry for the short chapter. Will offer a longer one when I am less busy.


	8. We met, but nothing changed. One could only hope -

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost everyone will make a good first impression, but only a few will make a good lasting impression.

 

When Guts first sees you - he mistakes you for a fae. But fairies never dwelt in places where humans lived willingly.

 

You carry the scent of after-rain and exotic spices, and he can't help but take a second glance. Fair skin and hair - but your build is obviously that of a male, even if your movements were like that of a dancer's. You would be prettier if you had let your hair grow out further than its cropped locks, but perhaps that was what you didn't want, judging by the way others eyed your form with ill-hidden greed.

 

You glance at him, grey eyes(-  _like the gathering of storm clouds before drowning rain_ ) alight with gentle curiosity and Guts looks away, unwilling to match your gaze.

 

You are gone when he looks up.

 

* * *

 

It's by chance that he meets you as he was about to be robbed by some adults who thought little of a child - mercenary or not. Though Guts rejects your help(-  _his bark is worser than his bite, you see_ ), he is relieved that you still stuck by him. For someone who didn't seem to be one for fighting, you were strangely at ease when Guts fought, watching as he severed limbs and sent blood splattering across the dirty alleyway - even helping to warn him of blows that would have taken off his head or hand at times.

 

You pick up a dagger at some point and join in - defending him from an untimely attack or two. Guts cannot help his mouth turning into a crooked grin as he tasted blood and you smirk back, teeth straight and white and the men fall like dead flies one by one(- till all but the two of you remained).

 

There is a smear of red on your cheek, and Guts wipes it away impulsively, marvelling briefly at the softness of your flesh.

 

Your eyes widen, black pinpricks against a canvas of blue-grey sea but you don't pull away.

 

"...Sorry," he says gruffly, pulling back after a heartbeat, face burning red.  _What made him do that anyways?_

 

You laugh gently - it is nothing like Gambino's cruel tones or the jeering mockery of the men that surrounded him and Guts prefers it.

 

"What for?" You cock your head, bird-like. "If anything, I have to thank you,  _my saviour."_

 

Guts feels his ears heat up and a warmth settling in his belly for some odd reason, and he doesn't reject you when you grasp his hands(softer than his, with long fingers perfect for a thief and more delicate than flower petals) - and kiss the bruises forming on his fingers. 

 

"You are hurt," you say - "Doing this has always soothed my little brother," you offer to Gut's questioning look and his insides _twist_.

 

"Do you feel better?" You ask, looking up at him with hopeful, innocent eyes and Guts nods dumbly, noting the pretty blue of your eyes amidst the grey tones. If he had not seen you fell several men just now, he would have thought you incapable of harming a fly.

 

Appearances are deceiving, Guts supposes.

 

"...Then would you like to go somewhere else? Away from... this?" You wave a hand at the mess around you, and Guts is suddenly all too aware of the blood seeping into his sandals and the stench of death surrounding you both. People would come to investigate soon, like hungry crows to fresh carcasses.

 

Guts doesn't trust himself to speak, so he nods, and that is answer enough for you.

 

Surprisingly, you don't leave immediately, choosing to pick the dead men's pockets around you for anything of value; like a bandit or thief - and the sight of you, carefully avoiding any puddles of blood or filth, nimble fingers lifting coins from battered pouches as you flit back and forth like a fae - destroys any possibility of you being a noble or someone with wealth( - _or parents_ ).

 

Just another street urchin then, and the understanding makes some burden lift off Guts and he follows your example, looting coin and other provisions from the bodies. ( _If he closes his eyes, this would just be another day on the battlefield, collecting what items he could find amidst the bodies and ash-tainted grounds._ )

 

"Shall we?" You ask, hand outstretched, back against the sunlight that brought out the fairness of your skin and the silver in your eyes; a stray breeze that made your hair ripple like a dancer's silks he once saw at a passing fair.

 

Gambino would be displeased if he ever found out, but it doesn't stop Guts from picking up his sword, wiping it clean on one of the dead men's cloak and grasping your open hand, allowing you to lead him deeper into the maze that was your city.

 

"...By the way," you start as you drag him along colourful streets and twisting shortcuts, "What is your name?"

 

"Guts," the child mercenary says, the truth spilling from his mouth with disturbing ease. 

 

You falter for a second, but resume your normal pace soon enough. "Guts?" You murmur, voice quiet and thoughtful.

 

Guts nods, liking the way his name rolled from your lips. 

 

"Aa... An interesting name. I am Sergius." There is no lie there, and Guts feels that strange warmth return. ( _Was this what happiness felt like?_ )

 

"Ser..gius?" Guts mumbles, tongue tripping over your name but you smile, slow and encouraging without any annoyance. It's a pretty thing, like the sunrise, but Guts has never been a poet.

 

Guts offers a tentative smile back.

 

( _Friendliness is not something he is used to, but this kindness you offer him doesn't raise his hackles for some reason_.)

 

* * *

 

"...Where are you bringing me?" Guts asks as you dragged him along(honestly, your grip was loose, and Guts easily shrug it off just as he could kill you but...). 

 

You had long passed the crowded marketplace( _skilfully fishing out a few coins from various peasants' pockets when they passed by you_ ), the houses and the farms in general( _where you took an apple from a low hanging branch for Guts with a strange aura of... wistfulness and plucked a foxtail for yourself to worry on_ ) - and the beginnings of the forested woodlands neared Gut's sight.

 

You seem to relax as you entered the woods, releasing his hand with a soft smile(-  _and Guts misses your touch for some stupid reason_ ) travelling across the grounds with old familiarity as Guts plodded onward, batting at stray brambles and twigs, trying not to lose sight of your form, which slipped past the trees and vines like they didn't exist. 

 

He stumbles out into a clearing, hearing running water and he lifts his head - catching sight of a stream, and most importantly, _you_.

 

You stood knee deep in the water, back facing Guts as you bent down to wash your hair - showing off the slender curve of your waist and the fairness of your skin that seemed to glow under the sun.

 

You were so damned pretty it was almost unfair. _Dammit._

 

" _You_ \- you-"

 

"Ah, Guts." You turn to face him slightly, artfully hiding your front, though your back and arse was on full display.

 

"You were taking so long, so I decided to get started first. Since you're here, would you like to join me?" You say teasingly, and Guts's eyes drift to the stray bead of water trickling down the nape of your neck before snapping back to your smirking face.

 

"Hell no!" He snaps, but there is no real heat in it.

 

"Oh, a pity. But the offer's always open -"

 

"Get dressed!" Guts sputters, face red as he turned away from your outstretched hand, choosing to stalk off and settle down at a nearby tree that in no way provided an excellent view of you - nope. Not at all.

 

"No way. You were the one that got me all dirty, so take responsibility."

 

Guts scowls, face a furious red despite not truly understanding your words but he doesn't make to leave.

 

"...You were the one who decided to jump in and help me anyways, idiot." He huffs in mild annoyance.

 

You laugh, lyrical and free as you waded over to where he was, your body half-submerged in the stream like a water nymph. 

 

 _Pretty_ , Guts thinks, and promptly curses himself for that thought. What was getting into him anyways? _Must've been the heat_ , he decides.

 

"...Where are we going anyways?" Guts asked, eyes shut as he rested against the tree, feeling the rough bark on his skin and the cool ground under him that does nothing to ease the building heat in his chest.

 

"A secret. ...Do you like honey?" 

 

Guts nods without opening an eye - he could imagine you easily, glancing back at him occasionally as you bathed, back against him and foolishly vulnerable. 

 

It is oddly pleasing.

 

"Good. There's a nice spot for gathering some. If you're quick enough - we might even catch some game!" You sigh longingly, grey eyes soft.

 

"Aren't _you_ supposed to hurry up then? _I'm_ the one waitin' for you now." Guts grumbles, fingering the wrappings around his sword handle with impatience.

 

You chuckle, flicking a few drops of water that lands on Guts's nose and proceed to ignore him when he snaps at you.

 

Still, Guts waits dutifully.

 

* * *

 

( _When you leave, thanking Guts for his time[ ~~no one had ever done that, no one had ever thought Guts was worth time]~~  and wishing him well, he only grunts; says nothing 'cause he can't trust himself to tell more than what he already did. Fact is that he misses you - those moments, no matter the fact that he barely even knew you._)

 

You are the kindest person Guts has ever met, and wasn't _that_ a depressing thought?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically, the long-awaited arrival of Guts... as I would like to presume.
> 
>  
> 
> @Ebi:: Thank you very much!  
> Your words are highly appreciated.
> 
>  
> 
> @Moratorium:: Thank you.
> 
> I am sure I might have already mentioned this, but like you, I dislike SI/Reader fics for similar reasons yet... I only write those kinds of stories. How ironic, but seeing another of like mind enjoying this work is wonderful nontheless.
> 
> And I wish you well too.
> 
>    
> @Momokai:: Oh, yes - a man-made thing, morals are - much like all that there is these days. And therefore, we will not be constrained by them - even if it means the world going to hell. (No, I am not sorry for encouraging Griffith's psychopathic tendencies.)
> 
> You could say that Griffith was already dependent on Guts(canonically) and also Guts's brother, so it would not be out of place for Griffith to rely heavily on the Reader now that Guts has left. Heavy scrutiny from the rest of the Band of the Hawk(and subtle scrutiny from Griffith) is to be expected, of course.
> 
>    
> @Potato:: Ah, yes - to some extent, Man has no will over their fate. But it does not mean that they cannot attempt to take control, however futile it may be. 
> 
> After all, is it not human of us to defy fate? to defy what is 'set'? to break the rules and bend laws to our will?
> 
> Bear this in mind: the ninety and nine are with dreams, content, but the hope of the world is made anew from the hundredth man who is grimly bent on making those dreams come true.
> 
> This changes nothing(- but we still struggle for the notion of a brighter future.)
> 
>    
> @sunflowergear:: Indeed. Berserk is no place for morals, because really, when you think about it, all the characters are doing immoral deeds. The life of a mecernary or noble is no place for purity of the heart after all.
> 
> And as always, thank you. You are wonderful company, no matter how short our time may be.
> 
> (Haha - wish me luck~ I am still preparing for the trip, so I'll be able to spend some time here with you all.)
> 
>  
> 
> @everyone:: So many folks coming 'round to chat - thank you, and I'd love to see more of everyone. I... never thought that this would garner as much support as it did, so thanks, and I hope you(all) have enjoyed this chapter.
> 
> Oh, and happy Friday the 13th, everyone - such a lovely day of the year - one of my favourites~
> 
> PS:: Guts is slightly younger than the reader(1-3years), but still older than Griffith, if anyone is curious.


	9. The world is rotten, as are the people around you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The darker the despair, the brighter the hope.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~...But sometimes, not even hope is enough.~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING:: _attempted_ rape**

The second time you see Guts is not a coincidence.

 

If you want to be cheesy, you would say that Fate had brought you together. Truth is - 

 

You had  ~~searched~~ stalked him for a few days after your first meeting, your blossoming magic dancing on your skin as you prowled through the night, face and hair hidden by the grey scarf Griffith got for you on his birthday( _you deserve a gift, for being the one who cared for me selflessly, and you nod, unable to deny his wish-_ ).

 

You learn that Guts enjoys the quiet woodlands and flowers, a far cry from the berserker he was supposed to be, and that he liked drinking hot tea( _how refined, for a child so seemingly uncultured_ ) and won his gambles easily. You fight back the pity at his countless attempts at failing to gain his father's approval, and take comfort in that fact that this would ensure his growth - a necessary evil to ensure his path into becoming the man he was. 

 

 _Liar. You are a just a coward who doesn't want to change the future - fearing the unknown like the useless_   _hu_ m _a_ n _you are -_

 

You ignore the voices.

 

Watching the child who would grow up to become the Black Swordsman was strangely amusing, even if Griffith grumbled about your inattentiveness these days.

 

Your little brother would understand, surely - after all, every man had to get their entertainment from _somewhere_.

 

The mercenary band had decided to stop by your town once more for a night of feasting and celebration - nothing different, but your intuition told you that _change_ was coming, and so you followed Guts, who had been the one that stirred such feelings.

 

He is still a young child, baby fat present on his cheeks though the coldness now present in his eyes tell of his status as a child mercenary - as does the oversized blade he used as a weapon. You still reminisce about the way he fought, how you helped him; watching blood stain the ground like spilt wine and the adrenaline rush - _glorious_ , utterly glorious.

 

Maybe that was what made Griffith like Guts so. 

 

Guts enters his room, exhaustion steeped in his frame. You scale up the windows of the tavern to Guts's room shortly after, wanting to voice out a greeting when your senses scream _danger_.

 

Ducking a blow that would have cleaved off your head, you pop back up to meet Gut's surprised face, breathing heavily at the unexpected action.

 

"You... _Sergius?"_ Guts exhales, apprehension fading as you nod sheepishly. 

 

"Sorry. I didn't want to interrupt you earlier." You say, twisting the ends of your scarf together as a pang of shyness hit you.  _What if Guts didn't even want to see you in the first place?_

 

You don't get a chance to find out, because there is a knock at the door - sending you diving under the bed, coughing at the dust motes in that tight space.

 

Guts stares blankly at the wall for a moment, flinching when the pounding increased in volume and strides to the door stiffly. You inch backwards, hand over your mouth, eyes wide, jumping as the door slammed open. 

 

"Donovan." Guts says, a question and statement in one - putting a name to the bald mug of the trespassing male. 

 

_Oh. Oh dear._

 

 _Danger,_ you want to warn him, but your tongue is heavy like stone, memories of the past hitting you at full force. You tighten your hand around your dagger, watching as booted feet came closer to the bed, hearing a choked cry as Guts was forced down and Donovan chuckles, breath undoubtedly foul with alcohol.

 

_Why aren't you moving? Why are you trembling like prey at a hunter's mercy?_

 

Gut's sword falls to the ground with a clanging noise, but it doesn't block the conversation from reaching your ears.

 

"Don't bother - _hic_ \- strugglin'. I've already paid Gambino for this."

 

There is a _thump_ that syncs with the drop of your heart - _and everything is too **loud**._

 

_Was this what 'fear' felt like?_

 

 ** _How disgusting._** Heat spikes in you at that, and the glass windows _shiver_ , not that you notice.

 

What was this strange feeling within you? A roiling nausea and a need for bloodshed. Was this anger?  _Ah..._

 

**_Did you not mention wanting to change 'history'?_ **

 

_...Yes._

 

**_Then what are you waiting_ _for?_ **

 

_"-three silver coins."_

 

 _Third time's the charm,_ as one might say. 

 

Your lungs burn and you inhale deeply - wondering when exactly had you began holding your breath.  _The right time -_

 

_\- and there's no time like the present, right?_

 

* * *

 

Guts is a fool. A trusting idiot. Donovan's words suck all the fight out of him, leaving him powerless.

 

_Why? Why -_

 

He catches a glimpse of movement at the corner of his eyes and sees you, so, so close, clothing dusty but unharmed - blue eyes large and sad. Fools always have hope. You're probably disgusted by him now, so weak and pitiful, yet he cannot help but catch your gaze, his black eyes pleading, desperate and - 

 

Donovan turns to look at what caught Gut's attention, and sees _you_. His leer widens at your pretty features, unveiled by the scarf that had fallen off when you slipped from the cover of the bed, stood with catlike grace and Guts's stomach _twists_. Guts wants to warn you, scream at you to leave ~~save him~~  but you already knew the danger and yet you still stood up and Guts, Guts - he wishes he wasn't so _weak_. 

 

To his surprise, you dart forward with an unnatural speed( _and Guts is suddenly reminded of the time you parried his attacker's blade and saved him from injury_ ), dagger like the jabbing beak of a bird of prey just as Donovan reaches out for your arm, yellowed teeth exposed in an toothy grin.

 

 _"Engel -"_ Donovan grunts drunkenly, hand open and grasping as he lunged. Guts takes takes this distraction as a chance to squirm away, tumbling clumsily to the floor and clambering as far as his unsteady, leaden limbs allowed, ignoring the pain. 

 

He turns around, just in time to glimpse a flash of silver in the dim light - and Donovan yelps like a wounded dog.

 

You strike true, jabbing once, twice, thrice - _like the beak of a heron_ \- and Guts turns back in time to watch as Donovan collapses, blood spurting from his wounds like a grotesque fountain. You skitter back, clasping your blade like a prayer, watching the other squeal like a pig with cold, unfeeling eyes; watching how the bald fool thrashed pitifully in the manner of a vulture awaiting death of its wounded prey.

 

It sends a shiver down Guts's spine. ( _Not that it's unpleasant, just _-)

 

Guts had never took you for someone willing to kill so brutally, but appearances could be deceiving. Your pretty face and slim frame could fool anyone into thinking that you had never touched a blade before.

 

The commotion goes unheard, covered up by the merry-making below.

 

Guts drinks in the agony of his would-be rapist with large eyes, not even flinching when you shifted to tuck aside your blade(- _cleaned gently on the_ _bed-sheets_ , Guts notes).

 

You reach out to him, and pause at the last moment, fingers hovering above clammy skin - as though waiting for permission. Guts likes that - the illusion of _say_ he had, no matter how small it was. 

 

"Will you be alright?"

 

Focusing on you, on the low timbre of your voice and the tiny frown between your brows was better than thinking about what nearly happened. He had his whole life ahead to dwell on his stupidity, but you were here now, warm and pure and you had ... _saved_ him, as much as Guts didn't want to admit it.

 

"...Guts?"

 

He is not okay, but he would be fine. Guts would survive, as always. This was no exception - no matter how deep the cut of his fa- _Gambino's_ betrayal was.

 

"...'m fine." His voice is dull, and you give him a worried look, eyes clouded with uncertainty.

 

"Alright." You murmur, and don't push for more. Moving deliberately slow, you take Guts's fallen sword and hand it to him, handle-first.

 

Guts touches his blade with trembling fingers, eyes on you as you inclined your head at him... and the unconscious form of Donovan.

 

"He is not dead." You answer his unspoken words, and Guts _heaves_ , managing to turn his head in time to throw up the remains of his meal on the bed - thankfully avoiding you.

 

He would have probably died of shame if he had vomited on _you_ ; his saviour.

 

You draw a cloth from your pocket, wiping the sweat and spittle from Guts's face with careful hands.

 

Everything seemed so far away, even as you laid your hands on his shoulders and guided him upwards onto his two feet -

 

 _"He is not dead yet."_ You repeat, voice soft, chest against Gut's back, body warm and steady against his trembling frame, heartbeat calm and eyes unreadable.

 

 _Do you want to do the honours?_  Your eyes glimmer, like silver coins.

 

Entranced, Guts finds himself tightening his grip on his blade, taking strength from your guiding hand as he stepped closer, feeling you mirror him blade held high like an executioner's - and sees his determined expression and your calm face reflected on his blade( _black and white, dark and light_ ) and -

 

It's a clean cut.

 

You sigh wordlessly, timed to the _thud_  of Donovan's head hitting the ground and rolling - leaving a bloody trail till it halted at Guts's feet. 

 

Blood spurted from the gaping stump of a neck as the headless body slumped further downwards, and the air began to smell like the fringes of a battlefield, a taste to the true battles that laid deeper.

 

Donovan's face is a horrid thing, ugly and dull, terror-stricken in death - and somehow that brings a more genuine joy to Guts than he ever thought possible.

 

Guts can't see his reflection or yours anymore on the bloodstained blade, but he feels the ache of his grin(- _a toothy thing, drunken glee and bloodlust wrapped in one_ ) and your satisfaction all the same.

 

* * *

 

"There's a bath here, no?"

 

Guts doesn't reply.

 

You don't expect him to. 

 

"Excellent. A bath it is then."

 

You guide his shivering, wide-eyed form to the adjacent toilet, which thankfully had an actual bathtub(ableit grimy), and switched on the taps, rinsing out the dirt as best as you could - letting go of Guts in the process.

 

Guts watches you with wide eyes; does not let go of his blade when you turn around - nor do you expect him to.

 

"Shall we?" You gestured at the clean( _er_ ) shower area, ignoring the way Guts looked at you; considering on how quick he could run you through his blade if need be -

 

Thankfully, through some daring bit of trust, Guts nods and peels off his sweaty clothing in an achingly slow way - like a scab off a healing wound; a removal of armor to the greatest of beasts.

 

You prefer to think of this as your way of accustomising and forcing Guts to face his fears and overcome it. For you are no therapist and will never be. But it didn't mean you cannot try your best.

 

You test the water, making sure it is just the right temperature before stripping off your own clothes and stepping into the bath - open, unarmed, trusting.

 

Still Guts does not move. He stays silent, eyes vacant.

 

You bury the pain in your chest and turn away to bathe yourself, lathering your body with the efficiency of a military man. It's only when you start on your hair that Guts moves - _speaks_.

 

"...May I?"

 

You blink, nonplussed - and nod after a moment of thought. Perhaps this was Guts's way of ascertaining that you were real; that his nightnare was over.

 

Some tension lifts from his shoulder at your agreement; as he nears you, sword still within arms reach and you keep your eyes above his navel level, humming when careful fingers delved into your hair, combing gently like something prized.

 

You quietly hand him the shampoo, taking a comfortable seat in the tub as Guts too settled down, paying careful attention to your hair, like a cautious child petting a newfound kitten, marvelling at the silken texture of its fur.

 

Small fingers trailed down the bony curve of your neck before jerking away, and you stir, giving Guts a confused look.

 

Guts's face is a furious red once more.

 

 _Was the water too hot?_ You frown worriedly, raising a hand to touch Guts but the other quickly backpedals to a corner of the bathtub, sword thankfully forgotten.

 

 _Ah. I forgot. No sudden movements._ "Sorry," you apologise sadly, and Guts nods, face still aflame.

 

"...Not your fault." He mumbles, and you fight down the burst of anger at what Donovan had done(-  _ruined trust that could never be whole again; cracked mirrors and rotted hearts_ ) - turning your mind to other things.

 

Guts jerks as the water dampened his hair, fingers twitching as you bathed him in turn, hands delving gently to the roots of his hair, rubbing soap into his scalp with all the care of a mother. 

 

He wants to lose himself in the moment, but he can only see---

 

 _Red blood dripping from his fingers, running down his hands to soak in ragged armour and the mountain-high corpses bloated, rotten and pus-filled squelch sickeningly when he_ t _w_ **i** _sts_ -

 

"-to leave?" Warm hands, a worried voice. Yours.

 

* * *

 

You try to cajole him to leave these mecenaries, to find another place, but Guts refuses.

 

He is still out of it as he sat on the bedside(- _which had been stripped of sheets to cover up the murder and resulting mess_ ), hair damp with residual water and his clothes too-big on clammy skin. 

 

You are similar yet different; pensive but refreshed, soft curls of white hair framing your face prettily.

 

Guts refuses, again. Some part of you understands.( _Sometimes we blind ourselves to never see the truth - people did that all the time_.) He doesn't want to believe that his father-figure, however horrible, had done such a thing.

 

"Then ask him," you say. "He will tell you the truth, surely."  _I will make him do so,_ you don't say, because whether your magic would work or not was uncertain.

 

\- and when you see the determination in Guts's eyes you want to take back your words but it's too late. ( ** _You fool_**.)

 

* * *

 

Of course, Gambino shrugs off everything and tells Guts to _let things go_ and 'forget it'.

 

It's expected. You don't know why you had thought your presence would change anything.

 

You curse Gambino( - _may death come to you on a rotten wind, clasp its claws onto your worthless soul and find you_ -) in the same breath as you ask Guts to come with you - _forget Gambino._

 

In that moment you don't think about how you would handle the consequences if Guts did accept; how the mercenaries would retaliate; how _Griffith_ would react; the potential fallout -

 

It's impulsive but you all think of in that instant is that Guts _needs_  it - hoping that he would accept the given lifeline, but see, the thing is that Miura was right with one thing about Guts's character - unchanging and loyal like a dog; a mistreated cocker spaniel that would return to its abusive owner just _because_ (- _for loyalty's sake or foolishness or some insipid, wishful 'hope' you cannot decide_ ) and -

 

"I can't." Guts hesitantly says in a heartrendingly pained tone.

 

 _I am sorry,_ is what you hear instead.

 

"Good boy." Gambino says in a demeaning tone but the way Guts lights up and basks in that insincere praise makes you sick and you think you feel your hope crumbling away.

 

 _What did you expect?_ A trust forged after a scant few days of knowing each other?

 

This is no fairytale.

 

**_You fool._ **

 

The arrogant part of you wants to sneer at Guts for refusing you, for choosing to stay with his abuser but the shame bites into you immediately and so you hold your tongue, willing your irritation away.

 

...Maybe you and Griffith weren't that different at heart after all.

 

_Just like a dog -_

 

You step back into the shadows, knowing nothing to convince the black-haired child and wanting nothing more than to leave( _ ~~so you do~~_ ), and your magic( _untrained, but powerful and open and that's all that matters_ -) wills you away, away from this place - not that anyone notices or cares.

 

\- when Guts turns back, you are gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait - but here's the next chapter. **This'll be the final chapter for the forseeable future as I'll be overseas with no proper internet connection/time for some time.**
> 
>  
> 
> **Please be patient, and thank you, everyone, for your understanding; for all your support.**
> 
>  
> 
> Moratorium19:: Hey there, thank you for coming by once more. I see that you have an a03 account now? I hope you're having fun writing your stories - if you do write a Reader-insert, I wish you all the best(and have fun)~ 
> 
> Things are getting pretty dark now, but never fear - we will always have our light.
> 
> Kindest regards, as always.
> 
>  
> 
> sunflowergear:: Ah, thank you so much for your enthusiasm. I hope I haven't scared you away with my long absence. It's been a busy few months for me, but I am more than willing to chat with you on concepts for my story. I do have a fanfiction.net account if you're interested by the name of CrybabyBoyfriend. Please do write down your ideas somewhere lest they be forgotten(because my replies are untimely as I am...) 
> 
> You don't know how happy I am that you're willing to indulge me, so thank you. Thank you very much.
> 
>  
> 
> ceciliailia:: Greetings, it has been a long time, no? Thank you for coming by - it's lovely to see another enjoying the Reader's interactions with Guts~ 
> 
> Oh, I doubt Guts would forget, with the history they (now) share...
> 
>  
> 
> pillerhikaru:: Thank you kindly. I live to serve - and hopefully there'll be more writers coming back to infuse life into this fandom. 
> 
> May you have a lovely time here~


End file.
